The Red Sword- The Complete Trilogy by Michael Wallace

Author:Michael Wallace [Wallace, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Balsalom Publishing
Published: 2019-07-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

A web of magic grew as Chantmer and Narud made their way toward the dungeon. The enemy had placed fresh wards and protective spells along the various approaches, and more than once the pair found themselves turning around as if compelled to travel in a different direction. Distracted, Chantmer thought it would be a good idea to listen in on the pasha as he spoke to his viziers, and Narud suggested going to the kitchens to look for food.

Once they realized what was happening, Narud suggested a concentration spell, but neither had one at hand. That sent them back to the libraries to find one. Jethro brought out two books to present them with different options, and they located a spell simple enough that an hour of study was enough to fix it temporarily in their heads. An incantation was always easier to remember inside the library than out, so they cast it before leaving again.

Chantmer’s head remained clear as they approached the dungeons a second time, and Narud maintained a dogged focus as well. But a malignant feeling descended on them when they passed through a covered arcade, and it continued to grow as they slipped past a pair of Veyrian guards armed with hooked pikes. They entered a long corridor with a ribbed ceiling of variegated white and salmon stone, and Chantmer had to stop and lean against the wall to catch his breath. Narud doubled over, looking faint.

It was still afternoon, and the light was strong, but a shadow seemed to hang over everything. Chantmer’s heart thumped furiously, and fear prickled along his spine and the back of his neck.

“I can’t shake the dread,” he said. “Something is squeezing me from the inside, and it feels like shadows are going to go down my throat.”

“The shadows are illusion,” Narud said through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his face flushed as he straightened. “But this confounded heat is going to make me faint.”

“That’s illusion, too,” Chantmer said. “There’s no heat, not behind all this stone.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t help me shake it off.”

Chantmer pushed himself from the wall, determined to press on. “That’s it, right ahead. We round the corner, face two more guards—no doubt idiots—and then take the staircase down. This is exactly where I came before . . . only it wasn’t so hard.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Be alert, keep focused on the concentration spell. If Zartosht or the other dark acolyte is down here, you’ll spot him even if he’s concealed himself.”

“Yes, Chantmer, I know.”

Narud sounded uncharacteristically peevish. Must be the heat.

They started forward. The stones beneath their feet seemed to soften with every step, until Chantmer felt like he was wading through thick mud. At the same time, the ceiling grew lower and lower, until the ribbing bent around his head and shoulders. He ducked to get under it, unpleasantly reminded that he was a good deal taller than his companion, and would be crushed first.

“It isn’t real,” Narud said. “The ceiling isn’t going to fall on your head.

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